The following sketch of
humble life, as it existed on the shores of Loch Kinnord towards the
close of last century, may not be unacceptable to the general reader
as a sequel to the foregoing history.

When our story opens, Nellie Ogg was a
playful little girl about twelve years of age. Her parents occupied
a small croft towards the north-western end of the loch, near the
place where the ancient Al was situated, then called the Claggans, a
name the origin of which has already been explained. The blight of
desolation, in that dreariest and deepest of all its aspects—when it
follows as a reaction on unwonted stir and adventitious populousness—had
fallen on the whole district. Gone were the ancient Deailich with
their hill forts and lake crannogs, their sacrificial Al and their
big canoes; gone were the early Christian preachers with their
cross-incised stones, their rude churches and ruder claggans; gone
were the great English armies that had more than once been seen here
in their vain attempt to subjugate the stubborn Scottish nation;
gone were the excitement and bustle wont to attend the visits of
royal personages here; gone were also the pomp and circumstance of
the great baronial hall, thronged with the retinue of the high
feudal lord who scarcely owned a superior; and gone, too, were the
hordes of Highland banditti, and the relentless soldiers of
conquering generals, whose work was plunder and demolition—all were
gone, while the wrecks they left behind them were heaps of ruins, a
few fragments of blackened walls, and a confused mass of broken and
disjointed timbers.

In this state the shores of Loch
Kinnord had long lain almost desolate. It was a place of evil fame,
haunted by the ghosts of the departed, by the denizens of the nether
world and their coadjutors, the wizards and witches of the human
kind! Thus superstition had invested it with a terror which, though
it kept the land tenantless, yet for long preserved the ruins from
spoliation. [As an example of the superstitious beliefs then
entertained, it may be stated that the witches, in common with the
fraternity elsewhere, rode the air on broomsticks, and the wizards
sailed the lake in riddles—i. e., corn-sieves divided into meshes by
interlacing splits of wood. One of these wizards had the gifts of
music and poetry to so high a degree that his fame had reached the
capital; and a great lord there became exceedingly desirous of
securing his services. The wizard, however, rejected all offers of
such employment made to him; and it was discovered that he could not
be compelled unless some greater magician were found to put him
under the required spell or bondage. The services of such an one
were at length secured, who, coming to Loch Kinnord under disguise,
got an interview, and laid his wand upon the shoulder of this
preternatural genius, who henceforth for a certain number of years
became his bondsman. He now hired him out to the nobleman in
Edinburgh, in whose halls he sang his songs, and at whose banquets
he supplied the music. But though bound in obedience to the spell
upon him to perform his task, he was not happy, for a fragment of
his muse, which has survived in the traditions of the district,
represents him as frequently thus soliloquizing :—

"I 'd rather be on
Loch Kinnord
Rowan' in a riddle,
Than here in Edinburgh town
Playan' on the fiddle."]

By-and-by one daring sceptic after
another ventured to settle on the unoccupied fields, till at length
a goodly number of small huts, called "reekan houses" again gave
signs of human life, though in its humblest forms, in scattered
clachans around the lake.

In one of these huts lived Duncan Ogg,
and his wife, Tibby Turner, the parents of the subject of our story.
Their habitation was humble and their substance small. The former
consisted of a but and a ben, affording accommodation respectively
to the bestial and the family. There were no outhouses. Indeed to
have made such a separation between the rational and irrational
members as would have resulted from delegating the latter to
outhouses, would have been an infringement on the principles that
regulated the establishment; for the bestial were accounted an
integral portion of the family circle; at least they were so in
little Nellie Ogg's view.

"Cromie," the cow, was so sensible
and alive to her duty and station, that she knew her place in the
family circle, and generally kept it, seldom stepping "ben" the
house, unless when unduly excited by female curiosity to see a
little of high life, or tempted by appetising odours about baking
time; for she dearly loved a bit of oat cakes. But even then she
never ventured farther than merely to show her "honest, sonsy face"
within the "ben" door. The least commotion within that apartment was
sure to bring her to a sense of her duty, and cause her to retreat
in some confusion to her own quarters. She was an old servant, and
respected the dignity of the family.

Very different was the conduct of the
other under-members of the household. These were the three goats,
whose names were Jock, Maysie, and Old Jonet. Old Jonet, it must be
allowed, had some sense of decorum about her 3 but as for Jock and
Maysie, no discipline would teach them manners. They had been petted
and pampered, and allowed such liberties in their early years that
they never could be made to understand that when their beards grew
they ought to behave differently. And then they were so pert and
frolicsome in their ways that it was found impossible not soon to
forget their acts of more serious misconduct, and fall a-petting
them again. In fact, had they been human creatures they would have
been entirely spoiled, and would have behaved not one whit better
than they did in their brute capacity.

They lost no opportunity of stealing
"ben" the house, and were not at all particular about appropriating
what they found that suited their tastes, whether it were the cakes
on the table, or the cold porridge set apart for the goodman's
supper, when he should come in at even; and if detected by Nellie
they looked so innocent of auy wrong-doing that her wrath soon fell
She would scold and threaten, generally winding up with, "Ah, Jock,
Jock, ye'll catch it, my man, when mammie comes in." Should mammie
then come in, a storm was sure to burst on the head of Jock in the
shape of a severe cuffing; and then Nellie never failed to take his
part, throwing her arms about his neck, and bemoaning his
castigation—"Peer man ! ye'll nae dee the like again; noo, will ye
Jock V If the cuffing had been unusually
severe, Jock generally shed some tears at this commiseration, which
mark of penitence Nellie was not slow to plead in his favour—"Oh,
mammie! I kent he widna dee 't again; see he's greetan'" If the
storm was not yet over, Tibby Turner would angrily answer—"Lat him
greet there, the scoun'rel; I canua turn my fit about but he's sure
to be in some bad ploy or ither." Seeing wrath still in store,
Nellie would take hold on his horn and lead him away from further
danger, saying, in a coaxing tone, "Come awa* but the house, Jockie,
mammie 's angry; but ye'll nae dee 't again, noo will ye"? and then
the two would disappear.

Thus within doors Nellie's management
of the little herd was often interfered with ; abroad, however, it
was supreme, and there, it must be allowed, there was less ground to
complain of the misconduct of any member of it. Nellie, in short,
was goat-herd, and considered the three as peculiarly under her
protection. Not only did they look to her for guidance in all
matters, but by some rule of goat-life they kept their respective
stations among themselves. The leadership was so absolutely in the
hands of Jock that on no occasion would either of the other two
presume to march without having him as vanguard. Maysie, it is true,
was always by his side, and usually only a neck behind, while Old
Jonet brought up the rear. Should, by any chance, men or dogs
disturb this order of march, there was no peace till it was again
restored. If hunted, Maysie would wheel round, bleat, and stamp the
ground with all fours until she gained her wonted position close by
the side of, but a neck behind her leader, where she would boldly
join him in offering defiance to all foes. In these times of danger
Jonet kept close in the rear, though at other times she allowed
herself a considerable latitude of movement.

The Castle Island was their pasture
ground. It was then so encumbered with the mouldering debris of its
former buildings that goats alone could safely pasture among the
ruins. The access was over the remains of the old drawbridge, then
an unsightly mass of spars and beams. Nellie, who was agile and sure
of foot as any of her own goats, had been so long accustomed,
evening and morning, to make her way through the labyrinth of
timbers, pacing carefully along a spar here, bounding more freely
along a plank there, now crosswise, now forward, zig-zagging her way
from mainland to island and back again, that it was believed she
would not have missed a foot had she been blindfolded.

Poor Nellie! One morning the goats
were led forth by her father and conducted to the end of the
drawbridge. Arrived there, he tried hard to make them take the
planks; but in vain. They had been accustomed to be led, and they
would not be driven. As far as he judged it safe he walked on before
them, talking to them as his daughter had been wont to do ; but it
was not the shepherd's voice, and they would not follow. That day,
nor for many days thereafter, the goats went not to the Castle
Island.

And where was Nellie? At home, abed,
and very, very sick. Days passed, and she became worse. At length
some fiery red spots on her brow disclosed her malady. It was
small-pox. From the attack, which was a severe one, she barely
escaped with her life. Her young and vigorous constitution alone
brought her through it; but though her step at length regained its
firmness and her voice its tone, her cheek had for ever lost its
colour and her eye its lustro. Poor Nellie was blind. From the day
she fell sick to the day she was able, to walk abroad again no
attempt had been made to force the goats across the old drawbridge ;
but in the wanderings of her mind, when the hut fever was on her
brain, she kept up an almost continuous conversation with Jock,
Maysie, and Old Jonet, as in imagination she led them to and from
the island along the well-remembered planks of the ruined fabric of
confused timbers, warning them of danger here, and of some sharp
turn requiring caution there.

Soon after her restoration to health
she insisted on resuming her former charge. To humour her she was
allowed to be with them about the doors; but for some time she was
not permitted to follow them out of sight of her mother. Seeing how
well she managed, and how guarded she was whenever she ventured on
unfamiliar ground, a less strict watch was by and bye kept over her
movements. One day when she had been absent beyond her usual time,
her mother went out to see what had become of her. Terror-stricken
she beheld her blind child walking along the narrowest plank near
the middle of the drawbridge, followed by Jock, Maysie, and Old
Jonet, in the old established order. The mother saw no more, for
covering her face with her hands that she might not behold her child
perish, she sank on the ground in a sort of stupor. Nellie and her
charge had been to the island and were now returning ; and ere the
mother had recovered from her fright, they were all safe on the
mainland. Nellie was severely reprimanded for her thoughtless
daring; but she still maintained she could tread the planks as
securely and as safely as ever she had done; and though it was long
before she received her parents' permission to venture on the bridge
again, it was not long till she rightly interpreted the bleating of
Jock to mean, "Oh, bring us to the island, Nellie;" and Nellie had
not the heart to refuse him.

So for many years blind Nellie Ogg
conducted her father's goats to and from the Castle Island along the
planks of the ruined drawbridge. Hers was the last foot that ever
crossed it.

At length a fearful gale swept the
middle plank into the lake, and Nellie's vocation was ended. She was
alive, it is said, though very old and frail, when in 1805 the
workmen of the famous engineer, Telford, pillaged the drawbridge for
timbers to lay the foundations of the last stone bridge over the Dee
at Ballater.

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